Breaths of Fresh Air: A Drabble Collective
by Cynical Daydream
Summary: Avatar drabbles with varying word counts. Themes borrowed from the Sailor Moon 100 theme challenge on LJ. Written and posted in no particular order, of drabble OR episode. Mostly Kataang, with a few exceptions in between.
1. Blue Eyes: Aang

_#6 Blue eyes__  
Aang  
148 words_

The very first thing that met his vision when he opened his eyes was blue. Blue eyes, light and crystalline as the glacier he'd been trapped in; the color of shadows on snow. They were the most beautiful eyes he'd ever beheld, and so was the girl they belonged to, her smooth, dark skin and silky hair contrasted by the pristine, snowy fur of her hood. The warmth of her breath caressed his chilled face, making him shiver for reasons his twelve-year-old mind could barely comprehend. He didn't understand his own feelings, as he urged her nearer, except that he wanted—_needed_—to be close to her, to gain her attention somehow. In the very first stirrings of infatuation, he did the only thing he could think of at that moment; giving her his brightest smile, he asked hopefully, "Would you like to go penguin sledding with me?"


	2. Things Left Unsaid: Aang & Katara

_#7 Things Left Unsaid__  
Katara/Aang  
866 words_

It was only in retrospect that Katara realized she had missed her fifteenth birthday. It had come and gone in the midst of their journey, unrecalled and uncelebrated by all—even herself. Well, she was rather used to that; since her father and the rest of the grown men had left to fight the war, there wasn't much time for frivolous things like birthdays. There was too much work to be done in the village.

As she daydreamed about the past—when her birthday _had_ been celebrated with family and friends—Katara's gaze unconsciously drifted to the boy sitting across from her on the other side of their campfire. Aang's soft gray eyes seemed pensive as he stared into the flames, his fingers combing idly through the short, dark hair on his head. She smiled a little, realizing that he still wasn't used to having hair. His pale skin gleamed as the flickering light bathed his body, drawing her attention in a rather disconcerting manner. When she had met him not-so-long ago, he'd been small and skinny, but the hard travel and constant training were clearly having an effect. He was growing physically, the muscles in his arms and chest still wiry, but unquestionably developing into a slim (and not-unattractive) physique. He'd grown taller, too, having once stood nearly a head shorter than her, but now reaching nearly eye-level and that, too, was disconcerting.

Naturally he'd grow, she scolded herself. After all, she wasn't the only one with a birthday in their little group, the only one to get older. His birthday had also likely come and gone, which would make him thirteen now, the age every boy in her village strove to reach, because it was the age when they could take their rites of passage and prove themselves men to their tribe.

She wondered briefly if the Air Nomads had similar rites of passage, and felt sorry that Aang would never be able to take them. Then she felt silly for thinking such things; even if he couldn't take his people's official rites, he didn't need them, anyway. He had certainly proven himself a man many times over in the past. A child could not have endured everything he had gone through. Especially his own death.

She shuddered to remember—struggled desperately to forget—the cold, limp body in her arms, which had always been so very warm; the overwhelming terror that she had lost him forever. And if it wasn't for the spirit water, she would have, and that was the worst memory of all.

She supposed dying (and coming back again) was the one thing that ensured a hasty transformation from child to adult. She didn't see how anyone could face down death and not come through unscathed. Aang certainly hadn't. Sometimes she could catch glimpses of the child he used to be in his bright grin and mischievous eyes, but she saw how serious and thoughtful he'd become with his single-minded determination to defeat the Fire Lord on the Day of Black Sun. It was rapidly approaching.

Aang glanced up suddenly, questioningly meeting her eyes. She hastily dropped her gaze, strangely embarrassed to have been caught staring, and then frowned at herself for being so silly. Aang was _always_ watching her, had done so from the very first moment they'd met. There was nothing different about _that_.

Except, perhaps, for the intensity of his eyes.

He'd always had very expressive eyes, and they voiced his emotions as clearly as if he'd spoken them aloud. Happiness, sadness, anger, fear; it was all displayed like an open book. But lately, whenever he caught her gaze, his eyes seemed to intimate things she had never noticed before, and had little knowledge of. Deep, mysterious things that made her pulse quicken and her breath catch, and often made her wonder if the Aang she'd known was still in there, or if he'd been replaced by a stranger.

His eyes were fixed on her even now, watching silently, and she dared to peek up at him again. A dark flush heated her cheeks when their gazes locked, and she told herself it was because she was sitting too close to the fire, not because the open affection and quiet longing in his eyes were making her weak in the knees (and other places, as well). It was the light playing tricks, she decided. It had to be, because Aang wasn't the type to keep secrets and if he had something to tell her he would certainly come out and say it, because that's just who he was.

All the same, it didn't keep her from asking (somewhat nervously, a little irritated), "Is there something you want to say to me, Aang?"

He blinked at her, and the spell he'd been weaving with his eyes was broken. A moment of silence, and a small, whimsical little smile touched his lips. He seemed about to speak, and she held her breath. Then he sighed, and his shoulders sagged. "No," he said quietly, turning his gaze back to the dying flames in front of him. "It's nothing important. Really."

And Katara could barely imagine why she was so disappointed.


	3. Sweet Sixteen: Zuko & Iroh

_#10 Sweet Sixteen  
Zuko/Iroh  
732 words_

Zuko blinked down at the package that was suddenly thrust under his nose, before glancing up at his uncle with a raised eyebrow. "Um …"

"Happy sixteenth birthday, Prince Zuko," Iroh told him solemnly, as he hesitantly took the package and set it on the railing beside him. "Aren't you going to open your present?"

Zuko blinked again, frowning. He mentally counted the days and realized it was, indeed, his birthday. He sighed heavily. "Sorry, Uncle, but I'm not really in a celebrating mood at the moment." He turned back to gaze out over the water, the ocean wind streaming through his long horse-tail. The last time he'd celebrated a birthday had been only days before he'd been forced to face off against his own father, and had ended up scarred and rejected as a result.

Needless to say, birthdays were no longer happy memories for him. All they did now was remind him that yet another year had passed and he had yet to find the Avatar and drag him home to redeem his lost honor.

"The men all pitched in to buy your present," Iroh said disapprovingly. "The least you can do is open it and thank them properly for thinking of you."

Realizing his obstinate uncle would not let it go until he did as asked, Zuko picked up the package and carefully tore the brown rice-paper from its surface. It was a wooden box, long, thin and polished. When he slid the cover back he saw it contained a slender dagger with an ivory hilt. It was a beautiful weapon, polished and oiled and sharpened to a gleaming, razor-edged shine. Its sheath was also intricate; dark oiled leather stamped with two dragons entwined in a lover's embrace.

It was sleek and beautiful and probably very expensive.

It was also entirely inappropriate for a prince's sixteenth birthday present.

Zuko's eyebrow twitched again as he slowly raised his burning gaze to the soldiers discreetly watching from doorways and shadowy alcoves. "Is there a particular reason," he asked slowly as he slid the cover shut with a deliberate snap, "why the men all chose to pitch in and buy me an _engagement present_?"

The last two words were nearly drowned out by the roar of the flames shooting from his fists in the general direction of the men, who all made it a point to vanish immediately.

"Do not be angry at them, Prince Zuko," Iroh said soothingly, placing a steady hand on the fuming prince's shoulder.

"Not be angry? Uncle, they bought me a lady's dagger! An _engagement_ gift! It's meant to be presented to my betrothed! I don't _have_ a betrothed!"

"Not yet, you don't," Iroh agreed, stroking his beard, "but this is the men's way of encouraging you. It is truly a beautiful dagger, is it not? A fitting gift for your beloved, and when you capture the Avatar and return to your home in glory, you can proudly present it to her as you ask her to become your future Fire Lady. These were the thoughts of your loyal soldiers as they pondered their decision. This is their way of supporting you in your quest, to tell you they believe in you. Can you not thank them for their thoughtfulness?"

Zuko stared down at the dagger, his brow furrowing. A gift for his beloved …? An image flashed through his mind, of shining dark hair and cynical eyes, a lovely-yet-wicked smile twitching her full lips.

He shook the image off and slowly tucked the box into his belt, then fisted his hand in his palm and bowed formally. "I thank my soldiers for their thoughtfulness in choosing this gift," he announced loudly. "I shall keep it safe until such a time as it is needed."

Realizing the immediate threat to their lives was over, the men appeared again, smiling and chuckling amongst themselves as they returned to their posts.

Iroh gave Zuko a hearty clap on the back as he led him into the inner bowels of the ship. "Now," he began cheerfully, "the cook has been slaving away all this time to prepare a proper meal for your birthday, and afterwards I've arranged music and entertainment for your celebration. The men are looking forward to an evening of performance, so perhaps you may indulge them by listening?"

Zuko's longsuffering sigh was all the consent Iroh needed.

* * *

_AN: I don't actually know when Zuko's birthday is, but I'm under the impression that the creators never gave them a set date anyway (that I could find in the character stats I checked), so we're going to pretend it happened just before he got banished. Also, I'm not quite sure if he was actually _dating_ Mai before then or not, but he'd hooked up with her awfully fast when he finally returned home, so I'm also assuming that he'd at least been interested before being banished, and flashbacks during the series have shown me that she was _definitely_ already interested in him.  
_


	4. Comfortable Silence: Smellerbee&Longshot

_#89 Comfortable Silence  
Smellerbee/Longshot  
657 words_

Smellerbee would never be beautiful.

She knew that; had known since she was a small child listening to the grownups talking around her, speaking under their breaths about the "homely little girl" when they thought she couldn't understand. But she understood very well, and by the time she'd reached puberty, it had been made very clear that homely little girls only grew up to become homely young women.

Homely women—in the sort of high-class society she'd been raised in—very rarely made good matches in the marriage department, which was what she was most expected to do. It didn't matter that her parents were rich, or that she knew all the things a proper lady ought to know (and a good many more, besides). She wasn't pretty, therefore, no wealthy, powerful man would ever glance her way. She'd remain single and alone and would probably become a burden on her family, the shameful daughter nobody ever talked about.

It was when the Fire Nation attacked her family that it all changed. Suddenly she was homeless, parentless, left to herself without anyone to help her. Until she met Jet, and was invited to go with him and join his Freedom Fighters. Having nowhere else to go, and being just a bit taken with the dark, handsome boy and his devil-may-care attitude, she soon found herself in an entirely different world. Here, there were no whispers and rude stares or pitying glances. To the Fighters, her beauty (or lack thereof) didn't matter a bit. They were a genuine lot (if a bit misguided at times) and didn't care about silly things like whether or not she looked good in a dress or would ever marry for money. They had far more important issues to worry about, such as putting the Fire Nation in its place. With them, she had found a place to belong, a family, and the freedom to be herself.

All the same, there were still times when she longed to be like those elegant and beautiful ladies of upper-crust society. She wished she could smooth her frumpy mop of hair into elegant coifs with jewel-encrusted combs, and wear the lovely silk robes and delicate slippers she often saw in the shops of Ba Sing Sei. She tried to imagine how it would feel to stroll down the street on the arm of a handsome man, attracting stares and whispers of a completely different sort.

But whenever she fell into one of these melancholy states—which happened much more often since entering the city—there was always a steady presence by her side to remind her of her own importance.

Even after the Freedom Fighters had disbanded and gone their separate ways, Longshot had chosen to come with her when she'd followed Jet to Ba Sing Sei in the hopes of making a fresh start. He was a welcome presence, a quiet and comforting friend (the complete opposite of Jet, although she liked _his_ brash mannerisms well enough, when they weren't getting them all into trouble).

Longshot never talked much; she could probably count on one hand the number of times she'd heard his voice. But that didn't matter, because he spoke most eloquently with his eyes. _He_ didn't care that she wasn't pretty—He wasn't the most handsome fellow in the world himself, truth be told—and it didn't matter if she didn't wear fancy clothes or makeup or perfume. To him, she was beautiful, because he knew who she was on the inside, which was all that really mattered, wasn't it?

These thoughts he always conveyed with a glance, a smile, and the warmth of his fingers closing over her hand and squeezing gently. And she forgot the whispers, the stares, the knowledge that she'd never be One of Them. Because no matter how pretty the clothes or expensive the jewels, none of it meant half so much as her best friend's comfortable silence.

* * *

_ANs: Not sure if I like this one or not. Could probably use some tweaking but, eh, whatever. I just thought these two characters deserved to be recognized.  
_

_One of the things I like about this series is the utter lack of developed character backgrounds for the secondary characters like the Freedom Fighters. Makes inventing histories for them a heck of a lot easier that way. Heh heh._


	5. Fortune: Katara & Sokka

_#72 Fortune__  
Katara/Sokka  
210 words_

"Man, sometimes I forget what a powerful bender that kid really is."

Katara startled; turned to look at her brother through astonished blue eyes as his words struck unexpectedly home. "Wh-what did you just say?"

"Huh? Nothin'. Just that Aang's a really powerful bender."

Wide-eyed, Katara turned back to regard the boy poised before the jagged dome of hardened lava he'd just created, single-handedly saving the small village that assuredly would have been wiped out by the overflow from the erupting volcano. Aunt Wu's prediction reiterated in her mind, the words eerily paralleling Sokka's casual observation, and for just a moment, as she stood watching Aang—his face and clothes covered in ash and soot as he stood tall and proud before his handiwork—she saw him not as the child he was, but as the man he would someday become. A wise and compassionate teacher, not to mention _the_ most powerful bender in the world. Exactly the sort of person she hoped someday to marry. Exactly the sort of person Aunt Wu had claimed she _would_.

She found herself blushing faintly as her consideration of her young friend began to shift, ever-so-subtly, from sisterly affection into something sweet and far more undefined.

"I … I suppose … he is."

* * *

_I'm aware that my dialogue may be a bit off from the episode this drabble was inspired by, but that's okay. Makes it more interesting that way. And yep, I personally believe that this is probably the episode in which Katara's perception of Aang begins to shift around, although she has yet to figure it out for herself. Heh heh._


	6. Kiss: Aang & Katara

_I admit, I was gonna save this theme for later but I had the most fabulous idea and it just had to be written out. Right now. It's my favorite of all of them, so far. Then again, I'm a complete sucker for mindless fluff. There will no doubt be lots more of it in future chapters. ^______^  
_

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* * *

#8 Kiss  
Aang/Katara  
633 words_

He could count on one hand the number of times he'd kissed her. The first, he decided, couldn't even be counted as a kiss. Despite his initial surprise and eagerness, it had turned into a vast disappointment. Standing in the damp, chilly cave, blinded by the rush of darkness as their light finally flickered out, it wasn't really a kiss so much as a clumsy, awkward fumbling of lips. They hadn't even properly connected; his mouth had landed somewhere on her chin, while hers had managed to locate his left nostril. And then she'd run off on him, not that he was about to blame her for it since he himself had been excruciatingly embarrassed. He doubted the Two Lovers had ever had any such difficulties in their cave.

The second time he'd kissed her had proven to be much more enjoyable. No awkward fumbling in the darkness, no sir! It had been a confident meeting of lips, warm and heady; her expression half-surprised, half-delighted as she shyly questioned what they were doing. Well, of course he had to tell her the truth, that they were only doing what two people in love were _supposed_ to do.

It would have been a most perfect moment, had it not been merely the fevered imaginings of his overtaxed brain. So, he supposed, _that_ couldn't be counted as a real kiss, either.

The third time he'd kissed her was real enough; better than the cave had been, but still not the perfection he wished for. A few mere moments, just time enough to savor the touch of her lips, and then he'd quickly flown off before he could analyze the astonishment and growing apprehension in her eyes as she realized that things had just changed between them. He hadn't mentioned the kiss when he returned, and neither had she, willing to pretend it had never happened.

The fourth time he'd kissed her … it had been a mistake. He'd known it even before he lunged at her, pressing his mouth so hard they'd nearly cut their lips on their teeth. It had been desperation and longing as his heart began to fracture and crumble at her refusal to give in to what he _knew_ was between them. She wasn't confused, she was afraid, but he was too ashamed of himself to press the issue when she turned and fled, wondering if he'd just ruined the fragile bond between them.

Caught up in his own disappointment and heartbreak, he hadn't realized that she was wondering and regretting the very same thing.

And now the end of the war was upon them. The firelord had finally been defeated. Zuko was in his rightful place as the new firelord. And Aang was in _his_ rightful place as the Avatar, the hero of the entire world. He stood on the porch of their house in the Earth Kingdom and gazed out over the city, his mind and heart at peace. It was finally over, and perhaps _now_ …

He knew it was her the moment her light footsteps reached his ear, and when he turned to regard her, witnessing her shining eyes and the blush touching her dark cheeks, his heart swelled with renewed hope, the cracks healing beneath the warmth of her shy smile. She didn't say a word, but then, she didn't need to.

The fifth time he kissed her, it was beyond the perfection he'd longed for. The mutual giving and taking of emotion, love and adoration wrapping them in warmth and comfort. Drinking in each other's breath as though they'd starve without it, the press of their lips caressing, soft, growing deeper moment by moment. A silent declaration, invitation and acceptance, finally reaching the place they were always meant to be; home, in each other's arms.

* * *

_ANs:_

_Yeeeah, so I'm sure I'm not the only Kataang fan who was squealing like a loon during that final scene in that final episode. I still go all warm and mushy inside thinking about it. It was the most perfect ending and it just begs to be written about. Repeatedly._  
_  
On the other hand, the scene in the Cave of Two Lovers episode always left me with questions, like did they actually kiss or not? Most Kataang fans would probably insist that it was their first real kiss, but really, who can kiss properly when they can't _see_ anything? And just recall that they hadn't actually made contact until _after_ the light went out, and the rocks hadn't lit up yet, so they were probably completely blinded in the sudden pitch-blackness of the cave. I can easily imagine a hit-or-miss situation, which is really quite amusing._

_Finally, just a quick thanks to everyone who has reviewed my little stories so far. I really appreciate them._


	7. Rosebud: Zuko & Mei

_#48 Rosebud__  
Zuko/Mei  
265 words_

"Do you like it?"

Mei glanced at her husband, who regarded her with barely-suppressed anxiety, before turning her gaze back to the extremely large bed they shared. At the moment, it was covered top to bottom with dozens of roses. Some were in full bloom, while others were mere buds, barely opened. Some were deep crimson, and others were as pristine as fresh snow. They were all very beautiful. She just wondered what they were doing in her _bed_.

"I know our first anniversary is coming up, and I wanted to do something special to surprise you," Zuko babbled, taking his wife's silence as a sign of displeasure. "I remembered how much you love roses—You always insist on having rose petals on your fruit tarts, remember?—so I thought you might like an entire bed of them. I searched the whole nation to find as many as I—"

He was silenced by Mei's finger pressing to his lips, before she leaned in to kiss him softly. "It really is a surprise, and the flowers are beautiful," she replied. "Thank you for such a thoughtful gift."

Zuko's face lit up, and he pulled her into a tight hug. She leaned into his embrace, resting her chin on his shoulder as she glanced again at the bed. She only hoped her husband had thought to strip the roses of their thorns before arranging them among the sheets, or they would be having a very uncomfortable rest that night. She sighed fondly and patted his back.

_I would rather have had the fruit tarts._

_

* * *

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_Poor Zuko. At least he tries. ^_~_

_Got a review complaining that my drabbles don't have any "depth" to them. I'd like to know how to put depth into something that isn't meant to _have _any. These are only drabbles. They are _scenes, _not complete _stories_. As such, "depth" is not important. Keeping them short and simple, and as close to the traditional 100 words as is possible, _is_. If you want something with depth, I doubt fanfiction drabbles are the type of thing you ought to be reading. Try an actual novel, instead. I hear they're quite popular these days.  
_


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